


Devils in the Skies

by Azarathian



Category: Teen Titans (Animated Series), Teen Titans - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, F/M, Kissing, Romance, Slow Dancing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-23
Updated: 2020-11-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:13:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27688768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azarathian/pseuds/Azarathian
Summary: He knows that he and Raven are the same. They are neither the jesters nor the saints, and they cannot be found steeping in the sun, but bound to the shadows, where their secrets are buried out of sight in the dark.But in this moment, he wants to surrender his woes to the wind for her; to be the one to venture into her darkness and light the first candle.-----Takes place after a particular episode in Season 4. Hopefully it's clear which one!Also my first time writing RobRae so, unlike I was with this fic, please be gentle.
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Raven, Dick Grayson/Raven, Robin/Raven
Comments: 21
Kudos: 45





	Devils in the Skies

It's 4am when he finds her, a blot of ink beneath the kitchen's pale light.

She's bowed like an iris over the island table. A mug is nestled in the cradle of her hands, her heavy eyes watching on as the steam twists and unfurls into the air before her. Even from the doorway, he can pick up the notes of chamomile pervading the space; a blend she turns to when sleep won't come willingly.

There are plates and glasses strewn about the counter, a mess of pink candles with their wax drying matte to the table top. Their wicks are charred from where she had blown their wishes out - a final, desperate plea that still smoulders somewhere low in her chest. And like him, she wears her uniform - perhaps the plainest tell that she hasn't slept a wink through the night.

He exhales, then feels his feet carry him down the stairs towards her. Beyond the window, the moon hangs high in the sky, its lustre reaching through the glass to breathe silver into her hair. Though she doesn't glance his way, he's certain she's garnered his presence in the room. A bold yet tender voice creeps out over the stillness as he reaches the island.

"I'm gonna guess you're not here to sneak some more cake?" he jokes, despite knowing the answer. His hand comes to rest upon the surface beside her, his mouth slanted to one side. It surely isn't the first time the two have found each other awake in the early hours, yet something in her idleness doesn't sit well with him now.

Where he had expected a shrug or a scoff, only quiet prevails. He thinks he catches her brows tense, before he watches her hands slowly bring the tea to her lips in silence. His grin falls from his face as he takes her in, and in seconds he recognises that slow, cloying weight of worry begin to turn like an animal inside him.

"Hey," he tries, softer this time. He swiftly pulls out the chair to her right and sits, a hand finding her shoulder and his brows upturned. She still doesn't speak; doesn't even look at him. Her eyes are like tunnels where they stare a hole into the red stretch of carpet through the centre of the room.

He thinks back to earlier that evening, when he had scanned her from across the same room and seen that even amidst the festivities, she had been somewhere far, far away from the tower.  
  
"Are you okay? I'm... sorry about the party. I tried to tell them, but..." he trails off. They both know how persistent their friends are.

For the first time, she reclines, her eyes closing and mug coming back to the table as a sigh escapes her. The violet curtain of hair shifts, and he sees that he was right. Her brows are tense.

"It's not the party," Raven tells him. Her voice is devoid of feeling, and he knows in his bones that it is forced. He presses his lips together. His gaze steels.

"Raven..." When he speaks, his voice is small and steady. "I promise, he won’t hurt you again. I won’t let him."

A copper mask flashes in her mind, and beneath her leotard, her skin burns with the memory of his cold, hardened hands.

 _I know he won't_ , she doesn't say.

Instead, her eyes pull from the cup in her hold and finally lift to meet his face. She grows sick with the thought that she has yet to tell him. Any of them. She is falling through a chasm and can see the ground coming quick.

But they will find out. Come Hell or high water, they'll all find out everything. And that, she knows, is the worst part.

When the words don't come to her, her frown deepens and gaze falls to his shoulder. There should be fear and dread, but there is only a bleak acceptance. A black and hollow mourning for that which she has yet to lose.

He holds his stare on her for a few seconds more, but then his head bows and his eyes follow hers downward.

"It's just been... a long day," she settles on. The longest day of her life, where the minute-hand had seemed to drag across the clock as though something were pulling it back on itself. She thinks of how, once the celebrations ended and her friends took to their rooms, she had felt hers waiting for her like a noose at the end of the hall.

Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the flames sweep up from the floor behind her lids, swelling to set the room ablaze. She smelt the cinders clinging to every wall. She felt the thick heat wrap like a vice around her throat. She heard his depraved voice crawl into the pith of her skull.

Trigon had taken the place she felt most safe and made it _bleed_.

It had been her hope that brewing tea might purge such horrors from her mind, but instead she found that once she'd sat down, she was unable to go back.

"None of this should have happened," Robin says, rousing her from her thoughts.

Yes. It should. It was always meant to.

She lets his name slip past her lips, and he hates that it sounds like a defeat.

"I meant what I said before," he presses on, resolute. He dips his head to try and catch her eyes. "You're safe now."

Raven feels his stare like a torchlight in her face. He’s wearing that look he has whenever he’s undoubtedly sure of something, and she doesn’t think she can take it, knowing it’s in vain.

She tastes an assurance forming on her tongue. She wants to tell him that she knows. She is safe and everything will be okay - all things she would so desperately have him believe, for as long as he is able. But the words die on her lips before she can speak them.

She wonders if when the time comes - when she has no choice but to tell them all - it'll be any easier to do so. Right now, the confession is coiled tight like a wire ball, high in her chest. It physically hurts to swallow down or bring up, so it just stays in that spot, throbbing whenever she breathes.

He watches as her eyes squeeze shut. It’s hard to tell beneath the dusky halogen glare, but he thinks he sees her lip begin to tremble.

He knows that he and Raven are the same.

They are neither the jesters nor the saints, and they cannot be found steeping in the sun, but bound to the shadows, where their secrets are buried out of sight in the dark. But in this moment, he wants to surrender his woes to the wind for her; to be the one to venture into her darkness and light the first candle.

There is a pregnant pause as something forms in his head, then he is standing suddenly from his chair and pacing to somewhere behind her. She turns away from the counter to follow his movements, a slender arm coming to rest along the top of her chair.

He's wandered over to the cabinets lining the wall, the harsh lines of his face now giving way to a mellow calm. A gloved hand reaches for the radio next to the tea kettle and fiddles for a moment at the dial, until a small crackle breaches the quiet.

She can only watch from her seat as the dial pivots left and right between his fingers, then finally settles and is released as a rush of music floods out from the speakers.

"What are you doing?" Raven asks gingerly. Her answer is a turn of his heel as he faces her once more, and where there had been a frown is now an easy, slight smile gracing his lips.

He holds his hand out to her.

"Dance with me."

For a moment, the absurd request surpasses her worries, and she can only blink dumbly down at his open palm.

"I don’t dance," she says. He merely shrugs with one shoulder, hand unmoving.  
  
"Me either."  
  
"I’ve seen you dance, Robin."  
  
" _Well?_ " he smirks with a knowing raise of his brows.  
  
 _God_ , no. He would be all limbs in all places, knees and elbows bent at odd angles and an expression bold enough to fool anyone into thinking it was _smooth_.  
  
She remembers how the first time she'd witnessed such a thing, she had found it oddly endearing and enough to have her stifle a brazen laugh.  
  
She'd give anything to return to that memory now.  
  
The mischievous glint within his mask wanes to a look of patience, and he gives one last glance down at his hand then back up to her face.  
  
Raven doesn't dance. They know this. But in these seconds she is touched with the sentiment that, if she ever were to try, this would likely be her last opportunity...  
  
With sad eyes, she takes his hand.  
  
Robin's smile softens as his fingers wrap gently around hers, pulling her from the chair. Stepping back into the kitchen's open space, he guides her along the tiled floor with him. She doesn't recognise the song playing; it's a loose and rolling tune, with strident cymbals accompanied by a buoyant drumbeat. There are soulful lyrics pouring from a husky voice, and as they flitter out into the air around her, she hears how they come to clash and blur in her ears.  
  
Robin keeps a careful watch on her face as he slowly reaches to her side to take her other hand. She gazes back but cannot find the will to return his smile; only looks on at her friend through eyes that are grave and hopeless. He persists all the same, with that stubbornly determined streak of his which she is certain she wouldn't trade for the world.  
  
She is merely humouring him - he’s aware. But the Boy Wonder is on a mission to change that.  
  
It begins as a wayward swing of the arms. His right hand pulls back, bringing her left forward, whilst their other side echoes the movement. It's slight and clumsy, out of time with the music, but they pursue the rhythm with an earnest resolve.  
  
Their eyes never break from each other as Robin elevates the dance, stretching the reach of their arms to and fro, then using the momentum to add a swivel in his hips. She expects it, but is still thrown for a moment as she knows she must follow his lead. She glances down to his feet and sees how his ankles twist in and out with each sway. With that same ache settled upon her face, she obliges the motion with a sigh and feels her waist turn only slightly as a mirror to his.  
  
He hears the band swell to a crescendo in the background, and it encourages him.  
  
His lips press together and his jaw firms as he leads her by both hands across the floor. The soles of her boots slide beneath her weight, her cloak rolling behind her as it grasps at the air. She feels her mouth part at the swift movement, and when she looks up again from her feet, they have drifted from the kitchen to the space below the stairs, and he is smiling wide.  
  
Before she can brace herself, he’s already turned them again with another steadfast sway. The whites of his teeth peek out from behind his grin, some threads of black hair beginning to fray along his forehead.  
  
Raven breathes him in, and a foggy notion slips through her...  
  
That somewhere right now, in another realm or existence, perhaps, they are dancing in this same spot below the hazy Tower lights.  
  
There are no Devils peering through the blackened skies. There are no bells to be tolled. No secrets. And they hold each other like this in the pull of a nameless song, not to distract from any looming threat, but simply because they can.  
  
There is a shift within her soul, and she envisions that, just for a while, she and that girl are one in the same.  
  
She isn’t sure when her lips had come to curl at their corners; she only knows that she had been looking down, and by the time she looked back up, Robin had been swinging his hips with a purpose so shameless that a giggle had simmered inside her chest.  
  
What leaves her is merely a huff of what that giggle might’ve been, but she drops her chin shyly all the same.  
  
They move along with the music at no particular pace, then just when she thinks it’s enough, his smile broadens and cheeks flush. As one of his hands release hers, he pulls her in towards him with the other.  
  
For a moment she isn’t sure what he’s doing, but it soon becomes clear she’s meant to follow his lead beneath the arch he’s made of his arm. And so she twirls on the balls of her feet, sees the kitchen spin as her hand swivels in his hold until they’re both back to where they began.  
  
She has but a second to settle before she is being turned again, this time back on herself, and where she might have stumbled, she finds his free hand balances her at her waist whilst his other hand coils around hers as before.  
  
They hold steady to each other and their eyes meet.  
  
“Very nice,” he says, with his smile seeming suspiciously more like a smirk. She regards him with a fond disapproval.  
  
“Thin ice, Grayson.” His head tilts back as he chuckles, warm and tender.  
  
“What? Not my fault you’re a natural,” the boy notes. Raven finds herself quite lost for how to respond.  
  
It’s in the seconds that follow, she hears a far-off chatter from the radio host as the song transitions. The drumbeat dulls as something else takes its place. There are strings creeping in, staccato and light, then slipping into a symphonic stream that crests in her ears.  
  
Her hold is limp against his, until she sees the boy’s face light up at the sound. He shakes his ankles loose for a moment, then with a roll of his neck, that smile reappears.  
  
“Okay, so you've graduated your first dance class,” Robin simpers, using his inches of height to peer down at her. She feels her brows knit slightly at the pluck in his tone.  
  
“Now, let's try something more advanced.” The magus stares at him, incredulous. She thinks all feeling might’ve numbed in her fingers.  
  
“What?”  
  
Even so, the music plays on; a full and sweeping orchestra usurping the open space as a tide might consume the shore.  
  
“This is the Waltz,” her leader explains blithely. “So your hand goes here.” He takes her hand and guides it to sit at his shoulder. It’s all she can do to quell the heat threatening to flourish in her cheeks. “Then I take your waist like this, and--”  
  
“I thought you said you didn’t dance,” Raven interrupts, wide-eyed. For a minute Robin halts, his movements stilling and jaw going slack. But then he’s huffing out a laugh, with another easy shrug of his shoulder.  
  
“That’s what I’d have all of you believe,” he says. She blinks a few times.  
  
“So... you tricked me.”  
  
Robin smiles.  
  
“It worked, didn’t it?”  
  
Against all odds, for whatever reason, she feels that same curl of her lips as she smiles back.  
  
His upper body seems to relax, then straighten intentionally as he readies himself.  
  
“Okay. My arm here--” he continues as before, confidently finding the small of her waist. She prays he doesn’t notice the tremor that travels down her spine. “And then…” This time, he cradles her left hand tenderly in his right. She might have been made of glass, by how lightly he folds his fingers over her own. Though he still wears his gloves, she feels the warmth of his fingertips lie upon the back of her knuckles through the fabric.  
  
Her heels brace against the carpet. Her ribs expand as she takes in a breath, too aware of how close he has pulled her towards him. He too seems tense, though perhaps the style of dance calls for it. It isn’t like she would know. Lowering his shoulders and lifting his chin, Robin exhales through his nose as he measures the music’s pulse, at one with their own.  
  
“We’re gonna take a step back,” he instructs. “My left foot goes forward and your right goes back… Then we both step to the side, and repeat… That okay?” This is when he glances down to her and she feels something swoop in her gut. Raven nods wordlessly.  
  
She isn’t sure if she imagines it, but his voice seems to lower when he next speaks.  
  
“So, on three…” he says. They’re both looking down at their feet, and it brings their noses closer than either of them care to acknowledge. “One, two, three - One, two, three - One, two… Good…”  
  
She might be clumsy at first, but Robin catches how she picks up the steps surprisingly quickly.  
  
She imagines she might’ve seen such a dance before, perhaps in some old black and white movie she can’t remember the name of. The actress wore a floor-length dress that she fancies could have mimicked the ripple of her cloak. Robin’s cape could pass as the tailcoat of a lavish suit. They could both be a picture, to anyone outside looking in.  
  
“This is a classic for the Waltz,” Robin cuts through the piece, as if fumbling for something to say. “It’s--”  
  
“Strauss,” Raven finishes for him. He stares for a second, before his voice takes on a teasing tone.  
  
“So, how’d you get to be so smart?” She lifts her shoulder a touch.  
  
“I read sometimes.”  
  
“Really?” he feigns, playing it out. “Huh. Never took you for the bookworm type.” When she smirks back at him, he feels his heart quicken.  
  
“Well, I never took your for the Astaire type.”  
  
A subtle, shared giggle resounds, then fades to a familiar quiet.  
  
The two go on like this. Forward, side, together - back, side, together.  
  
Any sense of time has become a distant haze, and as Robin looks down into her violet eyes, he can’t quite remember if it’s day, night, or somewhere in between.  
  
The symphony carries them across the carpet, a natural flow finally finding the two. At some point, they’ve begun to turn in place alongside the steps.  
  
“Where did you learn to dance like this?” Raven asks suddenly. It takes Robin off guard, but he recovers with what she thinks is a bashful laugh.  
  
“You can’t attend a Wayne Gala without knowing how to Waltz,” he offers, and she was right.  
  
He’s _shy_.  
  
It makes something unravel in the pit of her stomach, a warmth blooming along the breadth of her skin. She finds her feet are somehow still carrying her in time. As her fingers curl around his shoulders, she shakes her head lightly and hums to herself.  
  
“Any other surprises I should know about?” the sorceress baits. He can’t help but think how, after today, it should be him asking her that. Instead, his gaze shifts to the ceiling and his swaying slows as he pretends to think it over.  
  
“Surprises…” Robin murmurs, then she hears him draw a sound from his throat. “Here’s one,” he begins, but where she expects words to follow, there is something else completely.  
  
The ground disappears from beneath her feet and a gasp shoots into her lungs as he dips her low. His arm slides effortlessly from her hip to support her lower back, his entire front hovering over her as she is balanced solely in his hold.  
  
She’s left wide-eyed and breathless as he peers down at her, looking thoroughly pleased with himself. It’s a face she’s seen him don only a few times before, but now directed at her, she feels it ignite her blood within her veins. He can’t help the smirk, but behind it, he is helpless to the heat that brushes over the bridge of his nose.  
  
“Don’t worry,” Robin says, holding her in place. His grip at her back tightens. “I’m here to catch you... Remember?”  
  
The hand that was sat at his shoulder is now clutching at the back of his neck. There’s an urgent flutter that dances low in her gut as her bottom lip drops just enough to reveal her teeth.  
  
Last time he’d caught her, she hadn’t been conscious. But as she recalls that first drop, then awakening in his arms in quite a similar daze, she thinks maybe it would’ve felt something like this. For a moment she is frozen, gazing up at him and wishing she could see beyond the white mesh of his mask. Then she hears herself breathe out in a voice that doesn’t sound like her own.  
  
“… Yeah.”  
  
Raven is sure it would be safer simply not to fall.  
  
She doesn't let herself think on how he is making that very hard.   
  
With a small noise, Robin heaves her upright again, though she notices that his arm doesn’t return to her hip, but stays looped around her back. He avoids her eyes for a minute and lets out a somewhat awkward cough, as though shocked by his own boldness.  
  
They stand close enough for the caps of their shoes to almost touch. When Raven tries to remember why either of them are here this late, she struggles. Robin isn’t certain he could place the cause, either.  
  
What he does recall is that he’s supposed to be leading. He shifts suddenly to distract from the fact they’ve been standing in one spot, his fingers flexing on the hand that still cradles hers at their side. Neither know why the air feels thicker now. It seems to bloat at their ribs with every leaden breath.  
  
Raven swallows and realises she’s been still for some time. When she feels his fingers move, hers do the same, for no real reason. It’s only when they both blink back to the present that they notice the music has transformed once more.  
  
There are guitar strings, deep and rich and sultry. Each honeyed note is plucked in succession; an intimate resonance rounding out the sounds.  
  
As the singer’s voice slips over them, they know they are no longer waltzing.  
  
Raven watches the subtle bob of Robin’s throat, his eyes falling away from hers as his brow forms a crease. Then, his hand is withdrawing from hers, leaving it empty. The sibyl feels her chest clench, but the pressure unwinds as that same hand joins his other at the small of her back.  
  
She watches his face carefully; the gentle slope of his nose, the way the tips of his ears burn and his jaw grows taut. Even behind his mask, she can sense he is still not yet meeting her eyes.  
  
So she gives him a reason to.  
  
The girl inhales through her nose, then lets her suspended hand come to rest gently at his nape. Her fingertips brush together where they meet at the base of his neck.  
  
He blinks, raises his head to her again, and she can’t help the assuring smile that ghosts across her lips. She sees it reflected back at her, before he starts up another slow and lazy dance.  
  
The soles of their shoes brush along the rug. Their movements, once deliberate and timed, give way to an absent-minded lull; two bodies caught in the gentle ebb of a song like the wandering waves surrounding their island home.  
  
Soon enough, their smiles fade.  
  
Robin doesn’t start when he feels her arms curl smoothly around his neck, till they are crooked at the elbows. Not even when her head tilts forward and her temple comes to rest upon his shoulder where her hand had been moments before. A thoughtless act, but one the two yield to as though it were natural as anything.  
  
Knowing that right here, he can protect her from the evils of the world, Robin allows his mind to drift.  
  
He knows there are things she is keeping from him, but he has never wanted to break down her walls. Rather, he would have her summon a portal through the brick and willingly invite him inside.  
  
Even when they had first met, and he had dug for Intel on his new team, he could never find anything on the enchantress. Not from this planet, nor any other.  
  
She was an enigma, veiled and cold, and he knew there would always be places within her he could not reach.  
  
In spite of this, it had never changed that Robin felt deep within himself, she was someone to be trusted.  
  
Raven only wishes she could be worthy of such faith.  
  
But there are forces at work that he cannot yet comprehend, and though he doesn’t know it, their time is running quicker through the hourglass.  
  
As his cheek presses lightly to the crown of her head, Robin remains blissfully unaware of the lone tear that lands silently upon his cape.  
  
They breathe in time, and with each gentle sway, their bodies draw closer together, until she is certain she can feel his heartbeat thumping against her own chest.  
  
It becomes hard to tell how long they remain this way. The scent of candle smoke and lilac clings to her cloak. She feels fragile and small within the circle of his arms, and when she dares to blink her eyes open, she sees the room around them through a bleary fog. Her temple nestles deeper against his shoulder. She isn’t sure if she imagines the way he trembles, then sighs out with a brush of his lips to her hair.  
  
Her heart aches between her ribs.  
  
Neither notices how their swaying slows until they are standing completely still.  
  
Robin is the first to pull back. He mourns the loss of her warmth against his front and tightens his hold around her waist, as though she might vanish if he lets go.  
  
Their gazes are shallow, drawn down to the shrinking space that lingers between their lips.  
  
Then, by some unseen force, his forehead finds hers and their eyes fall gently closed.  
  
All sounds blur in his head but for his own voice, breathing out her name like it's a prayer. Her lashes are a balm against his burning cheeks.  
  
When seconds pass and she doesn’t move, he dares to lean forward. His breath stills as their noses softly graze together. And he thinks that perhaps he isn’t strong after all.  
  
Perhaps he’s weak, and he wants to be.  
  
There is kindling warmth at the first brush of their lips; a frail thing, like a wisp of wind. Raven’s brows knit together as though it hurts, but when they part, her mouth stays pliant and open.  
  
A pause hangs between them.  
  
The sand stops falling.  
  
And this time, when Robin moves forward again, she meets him with a slight but ardent lift of her chin.  
  
He captures her in a slow kiss, his lips a courageous drag against her own. There is something alight beneath their skin as they come together again, both sinking into each other’s hold.  
  
Pale hands brush through where his hair frays at his neck, and he pulls her closer still, their chests lifting as they inhale and press flush against each other. She feels one of his hands leave her, before swiftly finding her again at the curve of her jaw. He cradles her there as his head tilts. It’s sure and sweet, and she thinks for a moment that she might shatter beneath even his gentlest touch.  
  
Then he exhales deeply through his nose, and she senses something emerge from the darkness in her eyes.  
  
His tepid lips grow cold against her as she sees him cast in stone.  
  
Raven is suddenly thrown as the shrieks and cries claw through her head, and before she can think, she is tearing herself from him, her hands falling away as though he had scorched her.  
  
The sibyl feels her head rush as she abruptly steps back, stretching the space between them. Once she meets his eyes again, he is staring, wide and unsure.  
  
“Raven, I--” he starts with a voice that breaks. Her flesh becomes ice, her arms hovering idly in front of her.  
  
“I can’t,” she hears herself say, though she cannot meet his gaze, for she knows as well as any that it’s dangerous to stare into an eclipse.  
  
The Devil’s daughter has always had an affinity for wanting the impossible.  
  
Though she’d cry out for her mother, she would never come. Though she wished for peaceful nights, the monsters would find her in her dreams.  
  
And though her soul yearns out from inside her, she knows this is just another thing she simply cannot have.  
  
He is stunted and lost, only springing to life when he watches her turn from him to walk away. Her shoulders are high and her step quick. He finds he merely has time to blink before he is looking on at a veil of violet hair retreating towards the door.  
  
Something pulls him urgently forward, and when his gloved hand seizes her by the wrist, he thinks for a moment he might have caught the moon from the sky.  
  
“Please. Don’t leave…” His voice reaches her, pleading, but her eyes weld shut and she sees him again.  
  
A corpse, frozen in flames.  
  
Her stomach churns as her knees threaten to fall from beneath her.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Raven says, and where she once stood is merely a shadow. He can only watch as she falls from his fingers like blackened smoke.  
  
Then she is gone, leaving nothing but a chill in her wake.  
  
Robin feels his hands clutch at the empty air, before his arm surrenders, going slack at his side.  
  
There is static in his mind… An echo of her parting words.  
  
And he is reminded once more that the moon is ethereal, and something no person can hold.

**Author's Note:**

> Me: She'd always had an affinity for wanting the impossible.  
> The impossible: Literally basic things everyone deserves and should have.
> 
> First ever RobRae drabble, let's gooooo! 
> 
> These two are my angst ship. For SOME reason I can't picture them romantically without it involving some dire or tragic circumstances, I don't know WHY, I guess it's 'cos I LOVE to SUFFER.
> 
> My default tense for writing is past, so it was disorienting writing in present tense for a change, and I kept having to go back on myself 'cos I realised I was switching to past tense all the time lmao. I do think the present tense is more effective for this idea for some reason though, so was worth the editing. 
> 
> You can imagine any song you want playing while they're slow dancing, but please do consider giving Chris Isaak's 'Wicked Games' a listen 'cos it was the sole influence of this fic and is what I personally imagined playing. The lyrics give me emotions.
> 
> Finally, I do wanna point out that I think I wrote Robin as slightly smoother in this than I think he actually is in canon. In that regard, I can admit this was written more as an idealisation, but know that I do recognise that and will strive to write him more true to his character, awkward and all, in future!
> 
> Anyway yeah, I talk too much in the notes - hope you enjoyed!


End file.
